Catharsis and Tea
by ThirstySatyr
Summary: AU; but you never know! 4-ish days after book 11 starts. Agatha's on the verge of a spectacular breakdown, which may or may not result in the two men in her life becoming the two brains-in-jars in her life. Zeetha steps in to help her blow off steam.
1. Distractions

Title: Catharsis and Tea

Author: ThirstySatyr

Rating: M, for some language and sexuality (and yes, by sexuality, I do mean smut…)

Standard Disclaimer: Not mine. Studio Foglio's.

Chapter 1/2: Distractions

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Timeline Note: This story takes place approximately 8-ish days after the Sturmhalten "incident", approximately 7-ish days since Agatha entered Castle Heterodyne, and approximately three or four days after the beginning of book 11. Let me strongly emphasize the word '_approximately_'; the timeline of Girl Genius is crazy vague at the best of times, and down right non-existent at the worst…

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Summary: Likely AU; but you never know! Approximately 4-ish days after the start of book 11. Agatha is on the verge of a spectacular emotional breakdown, which may or may not result in the two men in her life becoming the two brains-in-jars in her life. Zeetha decides that her Zumil needs to blow off some steam.

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It was done.

Not everything, certainly; but a lot of it. The Castle was up and going again; the fragment of its personality that had been in the Muse-clank was restored, the Great Movement Chamber was moving again, and repairs on the massive structure were taking place at every hour of the day. Mechanicsburg was secure; its defenses back in place and its people elated to have a proper Heterodyne home. And, most importantly, the Baron Wulfenbach's forces were gone from the city.

Unfortunately, the list of things that still needed doing started right there, with the Baron. Specifically, convincing the Baron that his son was not currently kidnapped, brain-washed, or infected with a slaver wasp, and that Gil's feelings about the whole situation were genuine and worth serious consideration.

Not that the kid didn't make his feelings known, Zeetha thought with a grimace. At considerable volume, even. His very specific, and graphic, feelings on Jägermonster anatomy were being quite well expressed at the moment. Zeetha looked up from sharpening one of her swords just as her Zumil made her feelings equally as well known. And, not to be out done, the red-headed madboy joined the fray about a second later.

_Tarvek_, Zeetha reminded herself. The kid's name was Tarvek. Seeing as Agatha had a soft spot for the little schemer, it was probably a good idea to remember his name.

"I am not a nurse!" the byzantine redhead – _Tarvek, Tarvek, Tarvek _– suddenly bellowed.

"Neither is Gil, but he's been here for hours helping me!" Agatha replied, gesturing to the room around them. They were in a makeshift medical suite on the seventh floor of one of the mostly intact sections of the Castle. Rows and rows of damaged Jäger were in there with them, eagerly watching the fight their mistress was obviously gearing up toward. Agatha's frustration was so powerful, it flowed through the room like something tangible.

The frustration was understandable, though. Only a day after the Castle's conscious had been restored, the power of the Great Movement Chamber working its way back out into the city, the Jäger had come crawling out of the wood work. That is, they'd come pouring up from the secret den under Mamma Gkika's tourist-trap of a bar. Because no one was allowed to work on an injured Jäger except a Heterodyne, they had hidden, waiting for one of their liege family to return. So when the Castle had declared the presence of a true Heterodyne, the Jäger had come home. En masse, and looking for medical attention.

That had been two days ago, and Agatha was still having trouble getting them all settled while trying to tend to the worst of them. Every time one of the Jäger bowed to her, and they all did, it would inevitably cause some old injury to bleed anew or a jury-rigged limb to suddenly detach, and Agatha's anxiety would ratchet up another notch. Zeetha could see that her friend, trying to do what was right by those loyal to her, was on the edge of a truly spectacular breakdown – or explosion. And the two boys vying for her attention were not helping.

"Oh yes, so utterly selfless," Tarvek growled, turning to his perpetual rival. "And when I asked for help repairing Otilia's body - the proper body of our surrogate mother, I might add - you were nowhere to be found. I could have used help _yesterday_, and you were just gone. Where the hell were you, Wulfenbach; sneaking around where you shouldn't be?"

"None of your damn business, Sturmvoraus," Gil snapped back, his whole posture screaming for a fight. "It's not my fault you couldn't find your ass with a map and a FitzGingham Locomator. It's probably better that you didn't interrupt, anyway. Agatha and I were busy… collaborating."

And that, apparently, was Agatha's breaking point.

"Stop it!" Agatha suddenly screamed, her words jagged and furious. "You are both being childish and if you don't stop it right now, I will do it for you!"

Zeetha knew that particular tone of voice, and decided that something needed to be done quickly. And hopefully before innocent bystanders started getting involved_._ Silently she stood, slipping her sword back into its scabbard, and moved toward the room's exit. When she got to the hallway, Zeetha paused, turning back to watch the three screaming Sparks from the door.

"Castle?" Zeetha spoke quietly, careful to make sure no one could overhear her.

"Yes, Princess Zeetha?" the Castle responded just as quietly, its voice coming from nowhere in particular.

"Do you have a room nearby that you wouldn't mind getting a bit…" she paused to think a moment, "…mussed? Something with furniture you won't miss, and a door that locks from the outside?"

"Yes, Princess Zeetha – quite close, actually… why?" the Castle asked with good natured distrust.

She didn't bother letting the suspicion affect her. "Agatha needs to blow off steam. If she does that here, the Jäger are going to try to either stop her or help her. They're damaged enough as it is – if they get involved, they'll get even more damaged and then Agatha will just feel _even_ more tense."

"Ohh, this should be interesting," the walls seemed to rumble softly with laughter. "But, yes, I agree. A, um, _tense_ Heterodyne can be more unpredictable than normal. More entertaining, but also more likely to install yet another merry-go-round."

"Right," Zeetha concurred, curious despite knowing she shouldn't be. Brushing off the disquieting interest, she continued, "We're agreed then. You find me a room you don't mind getting torn up, and I'll talk the three screaming crazy people into it."

"You will send the Lady's consorts in with her?" the Castle asked, sounding genuinely startled.

Zeetha couldn't control the sudden snort of laughter that jumped out of her mouth. "Do _not_ let Agatha hear you call them that."

"Yes," the Castle answered drolly. "I've learned to keep that observation from her… But, still; won't she feel guilt should they get damaged? I'm sure they will heal slower than the Jäger."

"Yeah, well; they need a little sense knocked into them," she snapped with no sympathy, her humor fading swiftly. Then, trying to get her point across quickly, she explained, "Agatha sees the boys as free agents – if they get hurt, it's their own damn fault. The Jäger, however – if they get hurt, especially the ones waiting for medical attention, then it's _her_ fault."

The Castle was quiet for a moment. Zeetha knew it was thinking, but she hoped it would hurry. The fight between her friend and the two madboys was on the verge of getting physical.

"… That makes no sense," the building finally responded, its deep mechanical voice clearly confused.

"Maybe not to you," she conceded affably. "You're used to a different kind of Heterodyne, an older kind. But Agatha is like her father and uncle; she cares, she wants things to be right. And with the Jäger…" Zeetha paused, realizing that trying to explain morals to a sentient war fortress wasn't going to get her very far. Battle hardened stone didn't understand choosing good over evil, especially when evil looked like the far more entertaining option. But, there might be something else it would understand.

"How about this?" she tried again. "You understand war, right?"

There was a quiet moment where she could practically feel the Castle thinking.

"Hmm… the beautiful chaos of battle, the sweet cacophony of screaming enemies, the soothing heat of spilt blood and burning clanks. Oh, yes, Princess; I understand war."

"Ummm… yeah, sure," Zeetha started, shaking away the Castle's imagery before pushing on. "Well, with Agatha its kind of a matter of rank - the boys are her equals, so they are free to get into their own trouble. The Jäger are her subordinates, so she's responsible for them."

"Hmm… they are her soldiers," the Castle mused. Zeetha just nodded as it talked, letting it work this one out. "As her soldiers, their strength or weakness is a reflection on her."

"So," Zeetha jumped onto the train of thought, steering it where she needed it to go, "…if she abuses their weakness, or does something to make them even weaker…" she trailed off, hoping the Castle would come to the conclusion she needed it to find.

There was a thoughtful pause, and then the Castle rumbled quietly, "Then she is a bad leader, which she does not wish to be."

"Exactly," she replied solemnly. The Castle was right, and that was good, but the reality of Agatha's thinking made her feel sad. Such resolve and integrity were necessary in a good ruler, which Zeetha hoped her Zumil would be; but it was also a heavy weight that she mourned had come so quickly to her friend.

"Hmm…" the walls rumbled thoughtfully. "My new Heterodyne is a complex creature. It will take a while for me to fully understand her."

Zeetha ground her teeth a little as the Castle mumbled to itself, but didn't say anything. It was good that it was trying; she didn't want to discourage that. But there was a whole lot of mad getting ready to explode if something wasn't done soon.

"In the mean time," the Castle interrupted her anxious thoughts. "The catharsis room you asked for is ready. I had von Zinzer deliver some food."

"Perfect," she breathed, not really caring about the details, and trudged back into the room.

Zeetha walked toward the arguing Sparks just as her Zumil was raising a wrench above her head. Where Agatha had found said wrench in a medical suite was a mystery. What she was planning on doing with it was crystal clear.

"Agatha!" Zeetha yelled sharply, just as the wrench began its arch toward the red-head's – _Tavek's_ – skull.

All three Sparks turned toward her, freezing. Zeetha was frankly disappointed in the boys; Tarvek seemed completely unaware of the heavy tool poised over his head, and Gil looked utterly oblivious to the screwdriver aimed at his throat. Agatha, on the other hand, she was quite proud of.

Wanting to get Agatha and the madboys out of the medical suite before the distraction wore off and the fight turned bloody, Zeetha decided that 'short and to the point' was probably the best plan.

"We need to talk," the warrior said, careful to keep her face and voice neutral.

"What?" Agatha asked, shocked enough from her anger to look confused. When Zeetha didn't offer any explanation, just a sharply pointed glare, she shrugged and began to tuck her weaponous wrench and screwdriver away with jerky, tightly-wound movements.

"Okay," Agatha finished, stiffly shoving her glasses back into place.

As Agatha moved to follow the warrior from the room, Gil and Tarvek turned to one another, their anger not in the least bit subdued. Clearly, in Agatha's absence, they planned to beat the ever-living snot out of each other. Which, Zeetha thought viciously, was not going to happen; as far as she was concerned, beating some sense into them was reserved for Agatha's pleasure.

"Hey, madboys!" Zeetha barked, bringing their attention back to her. "You're coming too." Then she marched out the door, confident that all three Sparks would follow.

They left the medical suite and headed right, Zeetha following the nearly imperceptible signs the Castle gave by way of directions. Not that she needed to worry about the people behind her noticing; the boys were still muttering insults at one another ("_Skirt hounding misanthrope!_", "_Soft-skinned dandy!_", "_Iniquitous rake!_", "... _Pansy!_"), and Agatha seemed to be producing a non-stop growl just under her breath. None of the three were paying attention to where they were headed, which made Zeetha hopeful that, should they manage to get out of their "catharsis" time, it would take them a while to get back to work. Hopefully it would be enough time to cool down.

Eventually they made it to a long corridor, high in one of the less damaged sections of the Castle. They hadn't spread out much in the three days of relative peace they'd had, so though it was mostly intact, the rooms in this section were vacant and isolated. All of the walls were made of thick stone, hung with giant tapestry-maps, and though the floors were covered in twenty-years of debris, they were solid and steady underfoot. Each door they passed looked intact and sturdy, and Zeetha found herself approving of the Castle's choice of location.

At the end of the hall, the warrior heard a soft _click _of a door unlatching, and walked right to it.

With an exaggerated flourish, Zeetha pulled the door fully open, and took a moment to wonder at the room beyond. The location was perfect, but the room choice was interesting; taking a good look at it, the warrior realized it must have been one of the master bedrooms. It was huge – easily forty meters across - with floor to ceiling windows, a wide sitting area at one end and a dark alcove that looked like a bed chamber at the other. Definitely an interesting choice, but, in the end, she let it go. It was isolated, had a thick, sturdy, heavily locking door, and there was plenty of furniture to break. As Agatha walked past her, the warrior noted that von Zinzer had indeed been there, leaving a tea service for three and a tray of sandwiches in the sitting area.

Zeetha tried to smile when the madboys came to the door, neither wanting to go through first and neither wanting to go through second. In the room, Agatha threw herself into a rickety armchair and poured a cup of tea, ignoring the comedy of errors that was Gil and Tarvek. Though the posturing was amusing, in its own way, Zeetha knew time was winding down. She suspected that it was only a matter of minutes before either one of the boys or Agatha truly lost it, and she wanted the door locked before that happened. She let the boys glare at each other for nearly a full minute before she decided to encourage things along.

"Boys," she said gently, snaring their attention. "One of you, go in first. One of you, go in second. I don't care which is which. But if you aren't in that room in three second, I will break both of your legs then have an enthusiastic Jäger set them without anesthetic," Zeetha smiled when she said it.

It was not a reassuring smile.

In a flash, both boys were in the room. Zeetha was pretty sure that they'd managed to get through the door at the same time, actually. She followed them at a far more sedate pace, trying not to make it obvious she had no intention of staying. Leaning against the wall near the door, she watched as Tarvek marched straight to the tea service – and closer to Agatha. With overly casual motions, the redhead poured himself some tea, dropped two sugars into it, and began sipping for all the world like it was his idea to be here in the first place. Zeetha had to grudgingly admire the boy's arrogant show; he was good, and if she hadn't known better, she might have mistaken it for confidence.

Not to be outdone, Gil quickly made his way to the table, standing like a statue on the other side of Agatha. The brunette couldn't quite pull off Tarvek's manufactured calm, but the barely contained power vibrating off of him was appealing in its own way. Glaring at his rival, Gil splashed tea into the last cup, forgoing sugar.

Both boys growled as they glared at one another, and then proceeded to drink their tea as if it was a competitive sport.

Agatha watched for a second, the lines between her brows getting progressively more defined as her glare grew deeper. With a disgusted sound, she tossed back the rest of her own tea, set down the empty cup, and turned her gaze to Zeetha.

"You said we needed to talk?" irritated Spark asked, obviously clinging to the last fragments of her calm.

"Oh," Zeetha began with a smile, stepping lithely to the doorway and out of the room. "Not me; you."

Then she slammed the door, pleased with the heavy 'thunk' it made as the Castle secured the locks.

The doors and wall were thick here, so Zeetha wasn't surprised that she didn't hear the teacup shatter, or the pounding of running footsteps. She did jump a little when she heard the bang that was her Zumil no doubt hitting the door full force. One green eyebrow arched in an impressed sort of way when the pounding and the, surprisingly audible, screaming started.

"_Zeetha! Damn it. ZEETHA! Open this door right now. This is ridiculous. Open. It. NOW!_"

Agatha really could be quite articulate at the top of her lungs. Zeetha listened for a few seconds more before turning in no direction in particular. "Castle," she called, "Can you make it so she can hear me on the other side?"

"Um…" the Castle's voice rumbled uncomfortably. "If you insist. Do you need to hear her reply?"

"_Zeetha, if you don't open this door, I will put mimmoth dung in all of your shampoo!_" came Agatha's muffled, but remarkable well enunciated, threat.

"Oh, no. I can hear her plenty," the warrior assured, smiling despite herself.

"Then, please, go ahead," the Castle spoke, and she was pretty sure it was trying not to laugh.

"Agatha; chill," Zeetha started, a little unnerved by the way her voice echoed strangely as the Castle amplified it. "You need to vent. You almost stabbed Gil in the throat and cracked the redhead's…" - _Tarvek; the boys' name is Tarvek- "…_ skull open. In the medical suite! In front of the Jäger! Get it out of your system in there, and I'll be back to let you out in four or five hours."

A long silence followed her words, and the warrior began to wonder if she did need the Castle to carry's Agatha's voice. But she waited, suspecting the quiet was just a bit of shock.

"_Hhhourrrrsssss!_" came the eventual scream, ringing through the hallway despite the muffling of wood and stone. Zeetha wondered if the two boys in the room with Agatha had gone deaf yet. She also wondered if she cared.

"Anymore?" the Castle grumbled quietly.

"Nope. That's enough," Zeetha answered, happy when her voice didn't echo on the other side of the door.

Agatha continued to scream at Zeetha for a few moments before changing tactics and targets.

"_Castle, open this door immediately_!" Agatha bellowed, her voice going jagged at the edges. Zeetha knew that sound; her Zumil was giving in, letting her growing fury bring the Spark to the surface. The warrior hoped Agatha would find her release in that room, taking her frustration out on easily replaced furniture and madboys who seemed easier to heal than they had any right to be – rather than tear the walls down and take the slow-growing rage out on everything else. She knew perfectly well that the Heterodyne heir was capable of bare-handedly dismantling half the Castle if she let her frustration-tainted madness take over.

"I can not open the door, My Lady," the Castle eventually answered its mistress, its voice echoing oddly as it spoke both in the hallway and in the locked room. "The Princess Zeetha has… um… _done_ something to it."

"I 'did somethingto it'?" Zeetha remarked, one eyebrow arching sarcastically.

"I panicked," the Castle replied sheepishly, its voice just in the hallway.

"_What?"_ Agatha's voice screeched through the door.

"I will go and determine the best way to unlock it…" the Castle replied to its mistress, its voice fading slowly to silence.

"_What do you mean, 'go'? You're everywhere. You don't need to 'go' anyplace! Castle? Castle! Zeetha! Castle! Answer me! Open this door!_"

Zeetha just listened as her Zumil screamed, marveling at how tangible the anger was.

"How long should the door remain locked?" the Castle spoke low, asking for Zeetha's ears only.

"Like I told her; four or five hours. I'll come back and open it myself," she answered.

She just smiled as Agatha continued to scream threats and pound on the locked door. Listening for a moment longer, Zeetha shook her head, and walked away down the debris strewn hallway.

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She couldn't believe it.

It was unbelievable.

She just could not believe it.

"I don't believe it," Agatha breathed, starting blankly at the very locked door.

Zeetha could not have done this to her. The Castle could not have done this to her.

"I don't believe it," Agatha said again, feeling stunned.

There was so much to do. There were Jäger to be patched up; Castle systems to be repaired; a town to go out and actually introduce herself to – most of the city probably still thought that pink bitch, Zola, was the one in charge. And that was just what needed to be done _immediately_. Then there was the list of things that needed to be done _soon_, or tomorrow, or next week or next month… There was too much to do; she didn't have time to be locked in a room with two of her worst distractions. What was Zeetha thinking?

"Relax, Agatha; I'll get you out of here," Tarvek's voice intruded on her thoughts, startling her as he moved close to her back. Consumed by her frustration, she hadn't heard him walk across the room, hadn't heard him get so incredibly close to her. He was just suddenly there, and she could swear she felt the heat of him sinking into her skin. Swallowing hard, she tried not to notice how his nearness made things low in her body go hot and tight.

_Distractions…_ Agatha thought, trying to reign in her whirling mind. There were so many other things to concentrate on; she didn't have time for this wave of confusion and feelings.

When Tarvek reached out, his hand wrapping around her shoulder, her body rang with the touch. The vibration started where his hand rested, and travel straight _down_. Her frustration quickly followed. She didn't have timefor this! Taking a solid grip on her mind, she shoved her strange, conflicted thoughts aside, and let herself sink into a feeling she had no trouble understanding: _rage_. Pure, carbon distilled, frustration fueled rage. She let the hyper-charged anger crawl up to the forefront of her mind, and like she'd been doing for the past two days, fed off of the burning heat like a battery. Logically, she knew she couldn't keep doing this; batteries by their very nature only have so much power to give. But she needed it - this driving force, this feeling of perpetual, unstoppable motion - to keep her going.

Letting the red haze creep into the edges of her vision, she wrenched out from under Tarvek's hand and hissed, "I don't need to be rescued."

The harsh breath rubbed against the rawness of her throat and, almost immediately, she was over come by a coughing fit. Smothering the cough in her hand, Agatha ignored the dry burn in her throat, but couldn't ignore the nearly ten minutes of screaming that had caused it. The red faded from her vision quickly as she remembered where she was – locked in a room. With nothing to distract her except the distractions.

Trying to put some distance between herself and Tarvek, Agatha moved toward the tea set. Unfortunately, that meant moving toward distraction number two. He was sitting in one of the large chairs close to the table with the tea, one of his legs thrown casually over an arm. The pose looked effortless, and caused the fabric of his pants to pull in strange ways. The hard lines of his thighs were defined under the straining cloth, and Agatha suddenly felt like she'd swallowed a mouthful of fizzy-pop candy. While she watched, he leaned forward, and poured himself another cup of tea. The act itself shouldn't have been enough to make her fingertips tingle, but when he settled back in the chair, he draped one of his arms across the backrest. The position pulled his shirt taunt across his body, and an expanse of chest became visible as the top few of his long suffering buttons gave up the fight. Agatha's breath froze at that line of skin, as she tried to think around a renewed wave of confusing emotions.

"What are you going to do, kick it down?" Gil sniped as she watched him, glaring across the room while sipping his tea between words. "You'll probably have more luck using your head… Though the hollow sound might get annoying."

Of course when he opened his mouth of late, all of her confusion just melted away.

There was a loud thud, and Agatha wondered if Tarvek had actually tried kicking the door. Then Gil was suddenly on his feet, and she knew that meant the other man was probably marching over.

When she looked back behind her, she amended that thought; the Prince wasn't marching, he was storming. And Gil looked all too eager to meet the thunder. In one smooth motion Gil set down his teacup, removed his lab coat, and, barely moving an inch, attacked. If Agatha hadn't known what to look for she might have missed the moment when the chair, unobtrusively being sat upon a moment before, became airborne. The chair in question whistled past her at high speed, moving straight for Tarvek's head. The Prince reacted fast, avoiding most of the blow, but not all of it. He staggered when the heavy chair deflected off his shoulder, but didn't stop moving.

Gil stood his ground, and Tarvek kept coming. She didn't question how she knew, but she knew – they were going to kill each other. There was no backing-down left in either of them.

She didn't think, just threw herself between them, and had one last, errant thought to wonder why Zeetha had done this to her.

With them a near constant presence, the endless tasks that were pushed in front of her were almost welcome. The surgeries, the repairs, the sessions with Krosp going over strategy and tactics – she took them all, and tried to be grateful. Because without something else to concentrate on, all Agatha could think about was the way Tarvek had held her Sturmhalten. Or the lines of his bare chest… or his bare _everything_.

Or, just as bad, her mind would wonder to the way it had felt to kiss Gil. Or _his_ bare chest. Or how he had looked taking down an entire battalion of war-clanks defending _her _city. That last image nearly made her eyes roll back, it was so… visceral.

And now here she was, caught between them. Pressed close to each chest, one of her hands over each of their hearts. Every beat against her palms seemed to travel right into her, making her own heart skip and flutter. It was dizzying, drawing those strange, confusing emotions to the surface of her mind. Agatha felt lightheaded as she looked up at them, the matching fire in their eyes making her thoughts come slow. Then they moved, Tarvek's hand shifting to her hip and Gil's hand moving to the back of her neck. Both of their hands felt hot, like they were never going to let her go. Something in her gut – no, lower than her gut – _squeezed_, and Agatha stumbled back from the sensation.

Both men turned and reached out to steady her, bumping shoulders as they did.

With almost matching roars, Gil and Tarvek were suddenly at each others' throats. Kicking and throwing punches, they rolled across the floor, taking out furniture as they went.

Agatha caught herself before she landed ass-first on the floor, and looked up in disbelief. The rage was on her in an instant, circumventing reason completely, and staining her vision red. How dare they? How _dare _they do this to her; make her think things she didn't understand, make her feel things she couldn't quantify? Who the hell did they think they were?

Idiots!

Imbeciles!

Irritants!

"_D__istractions!_" she screamed.

Agatha didn't question how the chair ended up in her hands, she just threw it and followed quickly behind. She moved on instinct, shunting logic aside. When she reached them, Gil was yanking Tarvek out from under her projectile-chair, trying to reestablish his hands around the other man's neck. His fingers didn't get a chance to lock before Agatha fisted a hand in his hair and threw him back. Closing her other hand loosely, she swung her weight, relishing the way her fist connected solidly with his chest. She felt Tarvek's hands coming up to grab her legs, probably to try and stop her – though really, she just didn't give a shit _why_ he did anything anymore. She shot him a glare and reacted, slamming a knee into the side of the Prince's face, feeling it connect with his jaw and throat. When she felt Gil's hands grip at her shoulders she threw her head back without thinking, barely registering the impact with what she suspected was his face. Both men seemed to recover at the same time, throwing off their shock and matching her blow for blow. After that, everything became a blur.

When everything eventually stopped, Agatha felt dizzy. Despite wanting to, _so very much wanting to_, Agatha couldn't maintain the frenzied anger for long. The battery of rage she'd been drawing on eventually died, and she was left to watch the dust settle. She could feel her reason trying to click back into place, and the sensation was almost uncomfortable. But as she blinked away the last of the red haze, Agatha found herself on the floor, pinned against Tarvek's chest by a weight across her back, with their faces nearly touching. A second ago, it would have been the perfect opportunity to break his nose. Now, however, she felt stunned by the return of all of her conflicting, confusing emotions. He blinked his brown eyes at her, and she was struck by how beautiful they were. His eyes were dark, like some deep, rich earth; so dark, it looked like the red of his hair was spilling in, drawing the color from bitter-sweet chocolate to burgundy.

Agatha's confusion was just suddenly gone, burned away instantly by the heat flaring to life low in her belly. She felt the pressure of Gil across the back of her body, but it barely registered; she was entranced. The sweep of Tarvek's lower lip was suddenly all she could think about. And it was so very close. Any other time she would have stopped, thought about what was happening, tried to put some distance between them - but all of her hesitance was gone, and, acting on instinct, she moved the last breath between them.

Her heart thundered in her chest as they kissed.

She felt lightheaded and heavy at the same time, and it felt wonderful beyond words. She struggled for a better angle, but couldn't move from the waist down. She whimpered as she writhed against the Prince's body, not knowing what she wanted, and only knowing that she wanted more of it. When the weight pinning her down lifted suddenly, she used her new freedom of movement to shift without thinking, letting her legs slide until she sat across Tarvek's hips. Leaning against his chest, she deepened their kiss, sinking into the sensation, feeling her whole body respond.

Without her meaning it to, her body began to move, rolling against the man underneath her, seeking something she didn't have words for. There was an aching pressure low in her body, a need pulsing like a heartbeat between her legs, and she rocked herself against Tarvek's hips seeking relief. Her hips moved like a flywheel, lifting up and rolling down, pressing that ache at the base of her against the hard heat of Tarvek's arousal. And Tarvek's hands were moving against her, pulling her skirt up, moving the material out from between her and the pressure she was craving.

"Oh god..." she heard someone breathe behind her. Some small part of her mind knew it was Gil, but the rest of her thoughts were for the mouth against hers.

More sounds came from behind her, the fumbling shift of fabric and a few breathed curses, but she ignored them; she refused to be distracted from the kiss that kept ringing through her like a bell. Then there were hands on the backs of her exposed thighs, rocking with her as she shifted against the Prince's body. The hands felt good as they slid up her hips, over the bunched fabric of her skirt, and along the lines of her back. She shivered as first her coat, and then her skirt were unfastened and pulled away.

She nearly growled when the new hands on her began pulling her away, sitting her up and breaking her kiss. Despite her protests, the hands didn't stop moving her, turning her around until she was spun the other way across Tarvek's hips. Then lips found hers again, and she sunk back in hungrily. It only took her a second to register that it was Gil she was kissing now.

_Oh yes... _

Gil's lips, and Gil's mouth, and – _oohh - _Gil's tongue searing away her ability to think. Lights went off behind her eyes as they kissed. She rose up onto her knees for a better angle, barely noticing when Tarvek moved out from under her. As her hands ran up Gil's bare chest her thoughts tired to question where his clothes had gone, then he pulled her flush against the rest of his nude body and she just didn't care. Her fingers explored his skin, and the world faded as she learned the curves and lines of his muscles.

When Tarvek's hands wrapped around her from behind, she thought she was going to get pulled away again, and she clung tightly to Gil's shoulders to keep the kiss from ending. But his hands surprised her as they moved first to the buttons of her shirt, then the lacing on her bodice, and then the ties of her pantalettes. Inch by inch, she was exposed, and it sent goose bumps racing along her skin.

Then Tarvek's hands were dancing down her body, sending shivers of sensation along her shoulders, and sides, and legs. When he pressed himself into the curve of her back, her eyes rolled at the heat of his bare skin delicious and scorching against hers.

She relaxed into the support of Tarvek's chest, and hummed happily when Gil's mouth moved away so that the Prince's lips could take his place. It was beautiful being caught between them, and she felt a whine rising up out of her as Gil rocked his body along the length of hers. When his knees pressed hers apart, she shifted without thinking, letting the man at her back take her weight. She could feel Tarvek's arousal pressed against the small of her back, and when his hands slid up over her ribs and cupped her breasts, rolling her sensitive nipples, her whole body jumped and bowed.

When she came back down from the thrum of sensation, something hot, and hard, and electric was waiting for her. Without a twinge of protest, her hips rolled down, and she felt the slide of something she'd only imagined before. Where her body had been clenching against the delicious sensations both men were awakening with their kisses and their touches, she found her body now clenching around the length of Gil's arousal.

Something like a scream tried to crawl out of her, but was swallowed by Tarvek's kiss. The sensation of being full was new, and strange, and… wonderful. She'd wondered before, tried to imagine, read books; but nothing could compare to this. Nothing could have prepared her for this feeling; until this moment, she hadn't known she'd been missing it.

Gil started to move slowly, and Tarvek wrapped his arms tightly around her while deepening their kiss - and she knew, with what little of her mind was still working, that some part of her had been waiting for exactly this. It felt so good, being caught between them. She let herself get lost in the feeling, the remainder of her thoughts spinning out wildly. Tarvek's mouth on hers and his hands on her breasts, and Gil moving steadily inside her; she couldn't imagine how it could get better.

When Tarvek pulled away from their kiss, taking away her aching perfection, Agatha whined. She wanted to find the words, but she couldn't make her mind function - she just wanted him back. The Prince spoke something, and the meaning was completely lost, somewhere beyond the edge of her need. Then his hands began traveling down her body, moving steadily toward her hips, and his voice just kept rolling past her.

Gil growled suddenly, rocking back on his knees and pulling her with him. Her back felt cold as her skin lost contact with Tarvek's chest, but Gil continued to move with her in this new position, and it brought him gloriously deep inside her. She threw her arms around his shoulders and tried to think past the sensation. Gil felt wonderful, but she wanted Tarvek too; wanted the Prince's chest at her back, his hands on her breasts, and his mouth at her throat.

She whimpered as the pressure built along her nerves, moving her toward something she couldn't quite name. Wherever it was moving, she knew she couldn't go there yet; it wasn't right like this. It wasn't right if they weren't together.

"Share," Tarvek's voice slid over her shoulder, making her skin run with goose bumps. But she knew that he wasn't speaking to her, he was speaking to Gil. "Now isn't the time for fighting…"

Gil growled once more at the words. But his rhythm slowed, and he gently leaned her weight back into Tarvek's arms. Then he was shifting, unwinding her legs from his waist and moving away from her, moving out of her.

_Not fair, _she thought fuzzily. She didn't want one, just to have the other taken away.

"No!" she gasped in protest, trying to make her arms pull him back, trying to get her perfect balance again.

"Shhh…" Gil's lips found hers almost immediately. "Relax," he whispered, his kisses moving from her mouth to her throat. "He's right; I shouldn't be selfish."

Then his kisses moved lower, traveling down the length of her body. She watched in fascination as his mouth mapped every inch of her skin. Distantly she felt Tarvek come up behind her, his body moving up as Gil's moved down. Tarvek's knees slid between her legs and she rose at the insistent pressure, feeling his thighs move her up, and forward, and open. Gil saw the movement and dipped down even father, his mouth suddenly pressing to the hot center of her need.

She jumped at the intense sensation, arching sharply, her body one long line from her knees to her head. She felt like a wire pulled tight, and it all started in that place low on her body, where Gil's mouth worked relentlessly against her. Her vision flickered as her eyes rolled back.

Tarvek's hands slid between her thighs as she tried to come back down to earth. Her breath jumped out of her in gasps as he used his grip to spread her legs even wider, tilting her hips back. Then he was sliding into her, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.

"Red fire... oh, yesss…" Tarvek groaned against her back, and then slowly started to move.

It felt like too much, and the tension in her spine yielded under the intensity; she slumped forward, catching herself with one hand on the floor and the other high on Gil's back. She found enough leftover sense in her head to make her vision focus, and what she saw nearly sent her cross-eyed again. Gil was stretched out beneath her, belly down and head tilted back. He was braced on his elbows, his hands held firm against her hips. And his face was buried between her legs.

She tried to buck against him – the sight of him nearly enough to drive her past the edge of sanity - but between his hands on her hips and Tarvek's hands on her thighs, she was held still. She whined at the need to move, and he hummed at her in return. With his mouth working against her, the sound went through her like a jolt of electricity, making her body zing and clench. When Tarvek moaned behind her, she knew she wasn't the only benefiting from Gil's wonderful, _gloriously wonderful_, attention. Tarvek's grip on the backs of her thighs tightened as he moaned again, and his rhythm began to move faster and faster.

Everything started to build at once, and what was left of her thoughts scattered like sparks across stone. Tarvek's rhythm was rolling through her like an earthquake, Gil's mouth was winding her tight like a coil, and both of their hands held her hips still for the onslaught. She couldn't move, was trapped between them, their movements building a fire in her she couldn't control. Desperate for something to hold onto, she reached out, burying one hand in Gil's hair, and the other in Tarvek's. Her back arched between them, her body leaning forward and her head thrown back. She tried desperately to find some control, some command to force her body to _move _and release the maddening pressure that was turning her mind inside out. She was trying to lean forward, and trying to lean back, and trying to… trying to… _trying_…

The scream ripped out of her, something in her mind ignited – and she fell, endlessly, into a sky full of fireworks and thunder.

It was a long way down from that sky, and when she landed, the world came back to her in bits and pieces. No matter how many times she blinked, her vision refused to fully focus, and the room remained fuzzy at the edges. Her thoughts fought her, not wanting to work again. Sensation, however, registered with perfectly.

Somewhere in the aftermath, while she'd fallen through her beautiful oblivion, she'd been laid back, because she sure as hell couldn't have done it herself. If she'd tried to move under her own power, she probably would have crumpled gracelessly onto the floor. Instead she was blinking lazily up at the ceiling, her back warm against Tarvek's body. She could feel him underneath her, where he must have lain back after she'd flown through that burning nothingness. Her legs were still folded back, but her muscles were loose and relaxed despite the angle. Tarvek's legs were kicked out, and she could feel them splayed wide between her knees. The position was intense, because though _she_ had ignited and spiraled out into that sky of storm and fire, Tarvek hadn't – and he was still fixed inside her. She shuddered at the sensation, feeling his arms wrap gently around her ribs, the weight of her breasts resting on the back of his hands.

Another set of hands – Gil's warm, work roughened hands – slid up the sides of her thighs, drawing her attention. She looked down the length of her body, and found Gil's tawny eyes watching her. He was beautiful, his body stretched out between her and Tarvek's legs. She was amazed at how at ease he looked there, laying relaxed on his belly, shoulders resting on Tarvek's thighs, and looking up at her like a lazy lion. He smiled when he caught her gaze and, as she watched, something predatory flashed in his gold-brown eyes. _D__efinitely a lion_, she thought at that flash of something hungry, languidly returning his smile; he may have seemed content, but that look made it clear he wasn't anywhere near finished. He turned his head as she watched, moving with achingly deliberate slowness, rubbing his cheek against the curve of her thigh. He held her eyes as he opened his mouth, and then dragged his teeth across her skin. She gasped as the sensation made her feel like all of her nerves fired at once.

"Are you cold?" Tarvek asked as he hugged her tighter, moving his hands to cup her breasts.

The rumbled of his voice and the feel of his hands – it was too much for her sensitive skin, and she shivered again, her eyes rolling back.

"Of course she's cold," Gil answered the other man, the barbs his words would normally have had, barely present. The rest of his voice felt warm as it crawled against her senses. When Agatha was able to make her eyes looked back at him, he was moving, getting slowly to his feet. She took in the sight of him eagerly, watching the lines of his body bunch and coil. She particularly enjoyed the view when he moved from between their legs and lowered himself to kneel beside them.

"The floor is no place for this…" Gil finished, the predatory look in his eyes making her body tighten. Tarvek gasped at the feel of her unintended movement, and Gil just chuckled, smiling down at them both with hunger blatant in his eyes.

Before she could register what was happening, Gil was picking her up. The sensation of coming away from Tarvek's body sent a hard shudder through her, and she whimpered something incomprehensible as she went limp in Gil's arms. His laughter jumped along her skin as he gathered her close, and then walked with long strides across the room.

Content for the moment to be held, Agatha looked over Gil's shoulder as they moved, watching Tarvek push himself up from the floor. Moving stiffly, the Prince managed to get himself standing, and then made his way to the table with the tea. After tossing back what looked like a rather full cup, he shuddered, and then determinedly followed them across the room on unsteady legs. The sight should have made her pause. The arms around her should have made her pause. The fact that all of their clothes were in a pile somewhere in the middle of the room should have made her pause, blush, and stop speechless with embarrassment. But there was none of that in her; there was only a bone-deep joy and a desire to do it all again.

She passed into a dark part of the room in Gil's arms, and when he lowered her gently to a bed she didn't question. She just smiled, and pulled him down with her. They rolled together across the impossibly wide bed, settling in the center with mouths joined. When he slid into her, the sensation didn't startle her as it had before – it just felt right.

After a few moments Agatha felt the bed shift, and she broke the kiss with Gil to watch Tarvek crawl gently onto the bed. The thought of just how right this all was nearly stopped her breath. Gil seemed to double his efforts then, and Agatha felt her thoughts get pushed aside by sensation.

Her mind tried futilely to keep up with the information racing along her nerves. Her skin felt hot, and her fingertips tingled. The muscles of her thighs were tight, and somewhere in the center of her was a fullness that was threatening to send her flying.

She reached out blindly, needing something to anchor herself to. She forced her eyes open when she felt Tarvek take her hand. Turning to look at him, her skin ran hot at the sight he gave. He watched them both with a naked hunger in his eyes, leaning heavily against the headboard, and his hand moving slowly around his own arousal. Seeing him like that sent a jolt through her core, making her body clench and tighten of its own volition. She heard the man inside her moan and felt his rhythm falter briefly, but at the moment her eyes were only for Tarvek. It had been both of them, Tarvek and Gil, that had sent her flying just a little while ago. It was unfair that Tarvek should find his release alone.

Finding some reserve of control, she pulled at Tarvek's hand, drawing him toward her. He came slowly, his careful movements barely shifting the bed. When he was close enough, he leaned down, and she stretched to meet his mouth in a kiss. It felt so right, having Tarvek's mouth on hers while Gil moved inside her. She almost let herself get lost in the feeling. But there was a reason she'd pulled him closer.

Gently, she ended the kiss, and pushed at him until his back was against the headboard again. Locking her legs around Gil's hips to make sure she didn't lose that beautiful pressure he was building, she curled her upper body toward her Prince. Agatha felt Gil falter as she moved, so she tightened her legs down and brought her hips up, using her body to spur his cadence. She wasn't leaving him, she told him with her movements, she was just making sure they all stayed in this together.

Gil recovered quickly, then grunted something incoherent when her tongue reached out and touched Tarvek's hip – but she didn't look back. She was concentrating, and it was already hard enough with Gil filling her. If she looked back and saw that hungry shine in his eyes, she would be lost. And she couldn't let that happen yet. She wanted to do this for Tarvek, wanted to make sure he was a part of the pleasure that was growing insistently inside her. Forcing her thoughts to focus, she let her lips drag across the other man's hip, savoring the sounds that escaped him. She loved the thought that Tarvek was watching her, his dark brown eyes wide and unfocused with need. Wanting to pull more of those helpless sounds out of him, she licked at the hand he still held around his own length, tasting the curves and valleys of his fingers. Slowly she moved her tongue up, until she was able to slide the tip of him into her mouth.

"Oh, god... oh, yesssss..." Tarvek hissed as she started to move. When his hand fell away, she happily moved farther down his length, taking more of him in. A hard shudder ran through him as he tried to stay still, but she did her best to make it hard for him, matching her rhythm to the one Gil was keeping low in her body. She actually hummed when he gave in and moved, his hips rising and falling with her.

"Agatha... oh, yes, Agatha..." Tarvek panted, sounding helpless and quite happy about it.

The three of them moved together as if they'd always been meant to – but it didn't last long. After only a few minutes, Tarvek's movements began to waver, his body unable to maintain the rhythm they all made.

"Agatha, please, I'm... oh, god, I'm gonna..." the Prince breathed the half-voiced warning as he tried to push her back. But she was having none of that; she wasn't leaving him alone for any part of this. Instead she increased her efforts, making her mouth tight around him.

He tried to fight off the inevitable, but she was determined. And it only took a few seconds more before he gave in with a vibrating rush through his body. The way his body coiled tight, trembling and shaking, it called to something inside of her. The sight of his surrender was heady, and it hummed along her nerves, rushing her toward the edge of something she didn't yet have a name for.

Tarvek's release spilled across the back of her tongue, and she heard both men moan and whine as she eagerly drank him down. When the shudders stopped, Tarvek fell away from her, leaving her mouth tasting of his release.

Content that she'd kept them all together as much as she could, Agatha let her shoulders collapsed back on the bed, and she gave herself over to the pleasure of Gil still rocking relentlessly inside of her. She wanted to surrender completely to the warm weight spreading over her nerves, but Gil's rhythm changed abruptly, and she forced her eyes to open and meet his. His gaze was glassy and needy as he looked at her. When his mouth crashed against hers, she had a moment to wonder how she must taste. Then there was no more room for thinking. His mouth devoured hers as a desperate, keening sound escaped him. Then his movements picked up speed, and she felt like she was falling, rushing blindly toward that edge she couldn't name.

She locked her legs low on his back, tilted her body, and saw sparks. Every thrust was hitting something insider her, something... _wonderful_, and she met his movements with sharp snaps of her hips.

"Yes, Gil. Yes, yes, yes..." she heard her own voice as if from very far away.

And then she flew off that nameless edge.

This time, the orgasm came over her slowly. The first had been a thing of flashing, roaring heat. This spilled out of her skin like magma pouring slow and lazy down a mountain. She sighed from the pleasure, her thoughts running like liquid metal.

"Agatha... please…" Gil's voice pulled at her through the warm weight of her climax. It was almost more effort than she had left to make her eyes focus on him - because he was still moving, keeping her body on that trembling edge of electric bliss. But she found him through the haze, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

That seemed to be all he needed. Something desperate poured into his eyes, and then he was clinging to her, his face buried against her throat. With one final thrust, he pushed into her as deep as he could go, and Agatha felt as his release ran through him. He was nearly silent as it happened, just his breath catching raggedly. She rode his climax with him, shivering at the intensity that ran along his skin like electricity.

When it was over, she felt content, but completely spent. She didn't even have the energy to push at Gil's limp weight. He was warm, so she supposed it didn't matter much – but he was heavy. She must have made some sound, because a moment later she felt the bed shift next to her.

Agatha hummed happily when she felt Tarvek's hands slide between her and Gil, not pushing the other man away, just helping to move him to the side. She wasn't much help, and Gil was even less, but Tarvek eventually got them both comfortable. Settling against the rumpled blankets, she snuggled between the two men and began to drift. She was sore and exhausted as her mind gave up the fight with unconsciousness – but more important, she was very, very happy.


	2. Waking Up With Sun in Her Eyes

Title: Catharsis and Tea

Author: ThirstySatyr

Rating: M, for some language and sexual innuendo

Standard Disclaimer: Not mine. Studio Foglio's.

Chapter 2/2: Waking Up With Sun in Her Eyes

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Agatha woke slowly, her head feeling… fuzzy. Her mind was groggy, as sleep faded from her limbs only a centimeter at a time. For the longest second, she couldn't make her eyes focus, her vision refusing to work with the light shinning directly on her face. Throwing a hand over her eyes, she groaned at the brightness; she could have sworn the bed was in a curtained off section of the room.

The bed.

Oh.

Agatha was suddenly completely awake. And completely confused. The room she was in was not the one from last night, she was almost sure of it. She tried to grab onto her thoughts, but they were slipping away, fading from her conscious mind. It had been a large room, she knew that much. Or, she thought she knew that. There had been tea, and chairs, and a bed. She felt her skin run warm as a wisp of a memory flashed through her mind; yes, definitely a bed.

Forcing her eyes to open, Agatha tried to figure out where she was now, seeing as she wasn't on a bed. What ever she was laying on was a far cry from warm blankets and a soft pillow. She rolled slightly to giver herself a better angle, one without direct visual assault by sunlight, and came face to face with a wall. Blinking rapidly, she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. She looked at the octagonal window, and the faded blue walls – and then it clicked. She was in the Medical Suite.

Shifting her position again, Agatha looked down at the fabric under her hands – dark gray and utilitarian. It was one of the medical cots. She must have fallen asleep in the Medical Suite, passing out in the crash area Zeetha had insisted on putting in. She'd thought it was silly at the time – after all, who needs sleep when there's work to be done? Moving again, she realized what she'd thought was a blanket was actually her lab coat. Looking down, she saw that she was still fully dressed, right down to her shoes.

_Damn_, she thought, _I must have crashed hard. _But she could have sworn...

Batting at the remnants of sleep that clung to her like spider webs, Agatha rolled away from the wall, and was surprised to find Zeetha, apparently wide awake. Her best friend was idly sharpening one of her swords and watching her with careful eyes.

"Sleep alright?" the warrior Princess asked without preamble.

"Um," Agatha started, trying to force her frazzled mind to make sense. "I think so…"

"Good," her friend replied with a quick smile. "I had to hit you pretty hard there."

"What?" Agatha replied, sitting up slowly. She rolled her neck gingerly as she moved, trying to stretch out the stiffness hanging on her muscles – the cots really weren't comfortable at all.

"You know," Zeetha said with an arched brow, "When you nearly slit Gil's throat with a screwdriver? Or buried your wrench in Tarvek's skull?"

Wrench? Screwdriver?

Shoving at the gauze of sleep stilled wrapped loosely around her mind, Agatha tried to gather up the fragmented pieces yesterday. She knew she'd been in the Medical Suite since long before dawn, putting in stitches and replacing limbs. Gil had come in about halfway through the day, she'd taken a Zeetha-enforced break, then went back to work. Tarvek had shown up in the evening, and she'd been happy to have another surgery assistant. But he'd argued. A lot.

Agatha remembered the hot sensation of the rage that had flooded her veins as if she'd turned on a tap. Her vision had turned red as instant fury had turned her friends into a distraction to be dealt with swiftly. The more he and then, _inevitably_, Gil had argued, the closer she'd come to putting both their brains in jars. That, she remembered now, was about when the screwdriver and the wrench had shown up. Looking back, she'd been ready to do it – which was not a happy thought. But the yelling had eventually stopped, and thankfully not as the result of a double homicide.

It had been...

Her brain stopped. What had it been? It must have been _something_; arguments between those two didn't just stop themselves. But as hard as she thought about it, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Regardless, the argument _had _stopped, and then they left the room – or, she thought they'd left the room. Maybe they'd just walked into the hall? No, there'd been another room, she was sure. And... a chair? And a table? She shook her head, trying to remember more than just furniture. Because, really, how important could furniture be? Except, of course, the bed; that had been important. Because the bed had been where Gil had... And where Tarvek had...

But, no; that couldn't have happened.

Agatha felt a flush crawl up into her cheeks as she struggled to remember what she was sure couldn't have actually happened. She shook her head sharply against the sensation, trying to make her mind get back in order, and dismissed the wisps of thoughts that couldn't be actual memories. Because she'd been dreaming. It had to have been a dream; a wonderful, confusing, embarrassing _dream_ – nothing more. It couldn't have been anything else. How utterly ridiculous to imagine even for a moment that it had been real, no matter that she wished it was.

The errant thought renewed the heat in her cheeks, and she shook her head again, trying to shake away the last dredges of sleep.

"Agatha?" Zeetha spoke quietly, pulling her out of her confusing thoughts.

"Yeah," Agatha answered her friend, trying to snap out of it. "I'm fine. A little unfocused, but fine. I just need to, I don't know, eat something and get back to work… I guess…"

"Well, food we can do," Zeetha replied happily, pointing to a table set by the door. On it were several pitchers, and one very large covered tray. The warrior seemed to take Agatha at her word, because in the next moment she stood, sheathed her sword, and started walking across the room.

"By the way," her friend looked back over her shoulder, catching Agatha's still muddled attention. "You talk in your sleep."

Zeetha smiled when she said it, the look cheerfully lascivious.

_Oh? _Agatha thought.

Oh.

_Oh!_

Agatha felt a hot blush jumped into her cheeks at her friend's words. Zeetha just laughed, her eyes knowing, before sauntering across the room.

Wanting to get away from her friend's innuendo, Agatha jumped up from the cot and moved quickly toward the food. The movement, though, seemed to be too much for her exhausted body. It only took a few steps to feel a deep soreness radiating from what felt like everywhere between her ribs and her knees. A ghost of a thought whispered some of the warm, spine-tingly things that could have caused that ache, and another blush bloomed across her cheeks.

"Sore, sweetheart?" Zeetha asked with a smile, suddenly standing beside her.

Agatha looked at her friend sharply, her brain struggling to reconcile with reality.

"You were kicking and… um," Zeetha arched a suggestive eyebrow. "..._shifting_ a lot in your sleep. I'm surprised you didn't pull something…"

Without thinking, Agatha reached out an irritated hand and swatted at nothing. Sure, she'd hoped Zeetha's head would have been there, but she'd known perfectly well it wouldn't. Long before she'd swung Zeetha was already skipping away, snickering all the way to the orange juice. Adjusting her coat with an irritated tug, Agatha made it to the breakfast spread, and proceeded to eat like she hadn't eaten properly in a week. She groaned a little when she realized that that wasn't too far from the truth.

On the other side of the room, she could hear the Jäger waking up. Cheerful shouts were mixed liberally with subdued groans. Agatha ate her sandwich quickly, and looked out over her patients; every Jäger in the room was here awaiting surgery or repair of some kind. But, more than that, they were waiting for _her_. Deciding that she didn't really need a fourth sandwich, Agatha finished eating, scrubbed up, and got to work.

Three days ago, when the Jäger had poured back into the city, Agatha had nearly pulled her hair out trying to restore some sort of order. When the second wave of injured Jäger had come looking for her, it became even more important to figure out a method of dealing. Eventually she'd created a list, the most damaged Jäger at the top and the least at the bottom, with a clear plan to just move through them one at a time.

Pulling the priority list, she noted that the details of the next Jäger in line: Fernik - pale yellow, about two-hundred-ish years old, had the left side of his body crushed by a collapsing war-clank. Had been at Mama Gkika's for almost two years.

She had Zeetha administer the anesthetic that Gil had mixed two days ago, and took a moment to looked at the Jäger's notes while she waited for it to take effect. So far the blue, effervescent chemical cocktail was the only thing they'd managed to come up with that could numb a Jäger, even put him under for an hour or two. It wasn't perfect, though; they still woke up in pain, but it was all they had at the moment. And she refused to work on any of the Jäger unless there was some way she could lessen their pain.

"He's ready to go," Zeetha said, drawing her out of her maudlin thoughts.

She wondered over to the surgery area, and sure enough, there was a pale yellow Jäger that looked like half of his body had been pulled away. Luckily, he also looked as high as a steam-powered kite, and Agatha was confident he'd be unconscious within a minute.

"Good morning, Fernik," she started with a winsome smile, trying to remember Gil's lecture about bedside manner. "You're looking good today."

"Mornink, Miz Agatha," the Jäger responded, his words slurring at the edges. "Deed hyu haff sveet dreemz?"

Wide, innocent eyes looked up at her, and she could almost see herself reflected in the black of his over-dilated pupils.

Looking down at her patient, Agatha waited for her vision to run red, just as it had done for days now. She waited for the instantaneous rage, the Sparky madness and the nearly irresistible urge for violence. She waited for them, but they didn't come. She was irritated, maybe even a little pissed – but really, who wouldn't be with supposed best friends and supposed loyal Jäger making lecherous innuendo about a, um, _stress _dream? She felt one of her eyes twitch at the thought.

All that being said, though, she was surprised by how much she _wasn't_ instantly ready to kill. Which, though curious, was definitely a good thing. Fernik may have been a Jäger, but he was one of the more injured, and as pleasant as it would have been to crack his skull in two for his teasing, it probably wouldn't have been an improvement to his health.

"Fernik," Agatha started, proud when her voice remained even. At the edges, though, it was jagged; it may not have been the rage that would have come even yesterday – but it wasn't lace and butterflies either.

"I like you," she kept talking, her voice utterly serene. Anyone listening wouldn't have suspected her hand was wrapped snuggly around the Jäger's throat, squeezing until her knuckles turned white. "So when I say that I will kill anyone who even mentions my night, or my dreams, or _anything _about last night again, I'm only doing it so I'm not forced to put an end to our budding friendship. Do you understand?"

Agatha looked down at the Jäger, taking in the odd blue color his face was slowly turning.

"Do you understand?" she repeated gently, smiling.

The Jäger nodded hastily, unable to get his voice past her tightly griped hand. He smiled while he did it though, the drugged up innocence in his eyes replaced by naked admiration.

Satisfied that that was the end of that, Agatha released his throat and let him resume breathing. Turning her, remarkably still calm, eye to the room beyond the surgery area, she called out, "I trust we all understand?"

She was answered by a chorus of "Oh yah,"s, "Def'nitlee"s, and "Hell yesh, Miztress"s.

"Good," she mumbled, mostly to herself though, as Fernik had finally slipped into a drugged unconsciousness.

Picking up a saw and an incinerator-probe, Agatha got to work repairing the Jäger's destroyed left side.

An hour later, Gil walked into the room. She fought down the urge to look up, to run over to him, and to touch him with a familiarity she knew she only had in dreams. The impulse was so intense, though, that it left the skin across her shoulders feeling tingly. Instead of giving in, she just kept working, trying not to notice his limp as he walked across the room. It caught her attention, though, that limp. It made her watch him out of the corner of her eye, made her notice the split lip and the exhausted bruises under his eyes. Made her notice how incredibly uncomfortable he looked.

When Tarvek walked in twenty minutes later, she looked for the same signs, and found them. Exhausted eyes, a bruise blooming across his lower jaw and extending below his collar, a stiff gait, and an overall look of discomfort. Instead of walking directly over to her, as he would have just yesterday, he moved slowly across the room to where Gil was pulling on gloves and prepping for surgery.

Slipping the alloy hip-substitute into Fernik's open side, she listened as the two men talked. Tarvek asked about which Jäger was next on the list, and Gil explained the anesthetic. Both men were curt, maybe even terse, but neither showed the blatant hostility they had only yesterday. Between the difficultly both were having walking, Tarvek's bruise, Gil's split lip, and now this seemingly _civil_ conversation, Agatha figured they'd finally done it – they'd given in and had a knock down, drag out, nearly-kill-each-other fight. Honestly, she didn't want to think about the damage they could have done, but if it'd purged their vicious animosity for a little while, she was grateful.

Finishing up the fusion point of bone to metal, Agatha put aside the incinerator-probe and began the relatively simple task of putting the Jäger's musculature back in place. Simple, yes; but slow, and by the time she was done Gil and Tarvek had finished talking, scrubbed up, and pulled a Jäger each into the surgery end of the room.

"Zeetha," Agatha called to her friend, trying to keep her mind on the task at hand. "Can you take Fernik? Bandages; a half dose of Battle Draught; and a fluid hook up," the instructions flowed easily, and she wondered if she was getting used to it all.

It was a nice thought, that; the idea of getting used to anything. It might have been wishful thinking, but she wondered if maybe she'd finally moved past the mind-numbing frustration and found a pattern that she could work with. Maybe she was finally making some sense out of the insanity that had become her life. And maybe, _just maybe_, she might survive to become the Heterodyne she hoped to be.

She managed a tired smile at the thought, and reached out to hug Zeetha before the warrior wheeled the Jäger's table away. Her friend didn't question, just hugged her tightly back, and then moved Fernik someplace he could recover.

Taking a second to stretch, Agatha watched the two men in her life. They were her friends, and to some extent she trusted them both. But as she looked at them now, there seemed to be something more… something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She felt her body respond strangely as she watched them work, each elbows deep in a different Jäger, each politely ignoring the other. In fragments she could picture how their arms would look wrapped around her, or how their eyes would soften when they kissed her. As quickly as the thoughts came, though, they faded.

It had been a lovely dream.

But with a sigh, she let it go. Because that's all it had been – a dream. And right now, she had plenty of reality to work on.

.

.

.

.

The three Sparks didn't notice when Zeetha finished bandaging up Fernik, patted him gently on the cheek, and quietly left the room. She only looked over her shoulder once, making sure no one had followed her, then snarled under her breath.

"That was not what I meant by 'blow off steam', you pervy mound of rubble."

She was pissed. She was relieved, yes; but _Blood and Blade_, she was pissed.

Six hours after locking her Zumil in a room with the madboys, the Castle had snagged her attention. It had sounded worried, and Zeetha had followed its voice quickly, having assumed that someone was injured. When she'd walked in the door, she had been hard pressed to wrap her mind around how wrong she'd been.

They were sound asleep when she found them, sprawled and relaxed like she'd never seen them. Agatha had been in the middle, using Tarvek's chest as a pillow and with Gil's head on her hip. Both boys clung to the girl between them, but in sleep they seemed to have found some kind of balance, some kind of peace. Though Tarvek's left arm crossed Agatha's chest in a possessive sort of way, his hand rested on Gil's shoulder. And though Gil was wrapped around Agatha like he was never letting go, his right arm stretched across her so that his hand could rest on Tarvek's hip.

The whole thing would have been sweet...

"Princess Zeetha," the Castle started, its voice barely audible. "It was the Tea… I didn't imagine…"

… if it hadn't been a powder keg.

She didn't answer, her skin suddenly running cold. She just gestured sharply for silence, not wanting to risk waking the three Sparks by talking.

She walked silently over to the bed and began to slowly draw them apart. Of the three, Tarvek had fought her the most; when she pulled his hand from Gil's shoulder, it had gone back almost instantly. She'd tried to shift him three times before she was able to get him rolled over. Once they weren't touching, she began the slow process of getting them all dressed. She started with Agatha, because protecting her Zumil was her first priority. She had to make this night go away; if it had been a fight, even a brutal one, that would have been okay. A bloody brawl had been inevitable, or so she'd thought.

But this? If they had woken then, even fully dressed, there would have been no denying what had happened. She suspected the boys were the most likely to react violently, but Agatha was the most likely to have her heart broken. _And that_, Zeetha had thought, the first touches of guilt making her pause, … _that isn't going to happen_.

She'd carefully pulled Agatha from the bed first, cradled her gently, and taken the long walk to the Medical Suite. It had been hard to leave her Zumil there while she'd gone back for the boys, but the more distance she could put between the three of them the better.

Eventually she'd come back to the Medical Suite, both boys safely unconscious in their own rooms, and sat to watch her friend sleep. It was about four hours later that Agatha had woken up, and Zeetha had planted the seed of doubt.

Its not that she thought what had happened was wrong. Far from it! If she'd suspected the three of them had that kind of inclination in them, she would have asked the Castle for a cushy boudoir instead of a disposable battleground. Not that the scheming, decrepit building hadn't provided both. And then drugged them to make sure it got fully used.

"…_it was the Tea…_" the Castle had said.

That was all Zeetha had needed to hear in order to know – her Zumil hadn't had a choice. None of the three Sparks had; and no one likes their choices taken away, least of all dangerously powerful Sparks. Which was why she'd had to make it all disappear.

Zeetha's biggest anxiety had been the Jäger mentioning something; maybe offhandedly asking where she gone when Zeetha had led her from the Medical Suite, or commenting that she'd been carried back in half way though the night, or – worst of all – remarking on their mistress's change of smell. But Agatha had taken care of that with a few choice words and a near strangulation. The Jäger would help the night fade away, on order from their mistress.

Zeetha sighed in relief as she walked farther from the Medical Suite. She wasn't happy keeping this from her Zumil, but she would do it. That just left the Castle.

"You're going along with the charade, I hope," she growled between clenched teeth, managing a fierce glare despite having nothing fixed to glare at.

"You seem to think it necessary…" the Castle answered slowly, sounding less than enthused.

"You bet your key stone, I think it necessary!" she spat viciously, struggling to keep her volume in check. "Ashtara's tit, Castle; you drugged her! What the hell did von Zinzer put in that tea?"

The Castle was quiet for a moment, and then seemed to sigh. "As far as he knows; an herbal infusion of hibiscus, chili flower, and chamomile."

"What?" Zeetha asked, startled by the answer.

Again, there seemed to be a moment of thought from the Castle, then it explained, "I had him prepare tea – it came out of a jar, was put in a pot, and had boiling water added. That is all he knows…"

Zeetha thought about it as she reached the end of the hall and started down the staircase. If that was true, then maybe von Zinzer wasn't going to need killing. Which was good; Agatha did seem fond of the guy.

"It's called War Tea," the Castle continued after a moment, seeming to have become uncomfortable in Zeetha's long silence. "It is a formula used by the warlord Heterodynes. They would take it before battle to quicken their reflexes and keep away hesitance and pity. I thought it would work well for your purpose; encourage a little mayhem and make my Lady more welcoming of a fight."

Zeetha snorted contemptuously, "How the hell does a berserker tonic lead to happy, drugged-up naked time?"

"Because the War Tea isn't expressly a 'berserker tonic'," it explained, somehow sounding both condescending and imploring at the same time. "Its formula was designed specifically to quicken reactions and, um, slow inhibitions."

"Ah," Zeetha commented dryly, giving into the urge to rub at her temples.

"It has side effects," the Castle spoke after a moment, sounding cheerfully helpful.

"Oh?" the warrior snapped, unable to stop herself. "Are they going to grow horns, or third eyes, or develop a taste for snot weasels?"

"In their own time, perhaps," the Castle remarked casually, and Zeetha rolled her eyes.

"But, because of the Tea?" It continued. "No. It dulls the memories, you see. Always my lords would complain that the Tea-influenced memories were vague – almost like some happy, sanguine dream. It was the job of their assistants to record notes so that it could be fully recalled later. Of course, some of the assistance became notes… footnotes, that is… hehehe…"

"So, they think it's a dream?" Zeetha interjected, cutting off the maniacally blissful giggle.

"Eh-hem," the Castle cleared its throat before answering – which was ridiculous; it was a building, it didn't have a throat. "Ah, yes. Their memories should be fragmentary at best. It would take purposeful recounting and repeated attention to detail to make anything fully flesh out."

"Ha!" the warrior burst out before she could stop it. She had to give the Castle that much; it really could find the humor in any situation. "Like that's going to happen. I can just picture the marathon stuttering and blushing session that would be. No; they're not going to talk about anything, let alone admit out loud they'd had wicked thoughts about the other two. I'm sure the boys are still reeling – even with rationalizing it as _just a dream_."

The Castle seemed to mull on that a moment, humming amusedly to itself. "Silly boys; surely they know how _entertaining _a little flexibility can be? Ah well, they will learn in time..."

To that, Zeetha had no comment.

"But I'm sure you are quite right," it continued, and Zeetha imagined that if the pile of rubble had possessed a hand, it would have been waving dismissively. "Plus, the more they drank of the tonic, the more dream-like their experience will have been."

"They all drank as least a cup," she offered, remembering the manly tea-drinking competition she'd seen before closing the door.

"Hmm," the Castle mumbled thoughtfully. "More than enough to have freed their impulses and clouded their memories."

"That," Zeetha started again, "…is a _damn_ lucky thing. If Agatha finds out that you drugged her, she will be so pissed she'll… Well, she might just shut you down again. Or paint you pink. Or _come up_ with a way for you to feel pain." She took a moment to smile with pride for her Zumil, "She's creative."

"Oh... well... She does seem rather sensitive about her sex life, doesn't she…" the Castle mused, more to itself than anything.

Zeetha walked on in silence, making her slow way to her bedroom. It felt like ages since she'd showered, and the scar on her stomach was starting to itch. The last few stairs down seemed to get longer as she went, and she accepted that she was just plain tired. It had been days, nearly a week actually, since she'd slept and it was starting to catch up with her.

As she reached the door to her room, she paused. In that room Agatha had specifically turned off most of the Castle's awareness. It couldn't see, listen, or talk to her in there.

"Castle?" Zeetha called, leaning around the doorjamb.

"Yes, Princess Zeetha?" its rumbling voice came to her at the same conspiratorial volume it'd been using since yesterday.

"Do me a favor; next time you want to "help" me with any of my ideas… don't."

Without waiting for a reply, she shut the door, and headed for a shower.


End file.
